Phil Bradleys SnowShoe Trail

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Title: Phil Bradley's Snow-shoe Trail
The Mountain Boys in the Canada Wilds

Author: Silas K. Boone

Release Date: February 25, 2012 [EBook #38970]

Language: English

Character set encoding: UTF-8

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Phil Bradley’s Snow-Shoe Trail

Silas K. Boone

Contents

CHAPTER I—INTO THE LAND OF THE MOOSE AND CARIBOU
CHAPTER II—BESIDE THE FRAGRANT CAMP FIRE
CHAPTER III—FISHING THROUGH THE ICE WITH TIP-UPS
CHAPTER IV—LUB’S BEAR
CHAPTER V—X-RAY STRAPS ON HIS SNOW-SHOES
CHAPTER VI—A QUARREL OVER THE GAME
CHAPTER VII—NOT TO BE BLUFFED
CHAPTER VIII—AGAIN ON THE TRAIL
CHAPTER IX—THE WAIF OF THE SNOW FOREST
CHAPTER X—A RUDE AWAKENING
CHAPTER XI—ON GUARD
CHAPTER XII—LAYING PLANS
CHAPTER XIII—THE MYSTERY OF THE PINE WOODS
CHAPTER XIV—MR. JAMES BODMAN GIVES A DANCE
CHAPTER XV—THE FIRE VIGIL
CHAPTER XVI—BAYLAY’S HOME-COMING—CONCLUSION

“SOME ANIMAL HAS GONE ALONG HERE, SURE ENOUGH,” SAID X-RAY

THE MOUNTAIN BOYS SERIES

PHIL BRADLEY’S SNOW-SHOE TRAIL

OR

THE MOUNTAIN BOYS IN CANADA WILDS

BY

SILAS K. BOONE

THE NEW YORK BOOK COMPANY

NEW YORK

Copyright, 1915, by

THE NEW YORK BOOK COMPANY

PHIL BRADLEY’S SNOW-SHOE TRAIL

OR, THE MOUNTAIN BOYS IN CANADA WILDS

CHAPTER I—INTO THE LAND OF THE MOOSE AND CARIBOU

“That cold chicken Mrs. McNab put up for our lunch yesterday went fine, fellows; and I only wish we had the like of it
for to-day!”

“You always did have a weakness for fowls, Ethan.”

“Just so, X-Ray Tyson; that’s why they put me out in the left garden on our Brewster baseball team so I could gobble
all that were knocked that way.”

“Well, we’ve heard you boasting lots of times about that wonder of a rooster you’ve got at home.”

“Oh! you mean old Robinson Crusoe, don’t you, Lub?”

“Yes, that sorrel-topped ungainly looking crow-factory we’ve all seen strutting around your yard so often. I never ran
across an uglier bird, for a fact, if you’ll excuse me for saying it, Ethan.”

The boy who answered to the last mentioned name only laughed as he continued:

“No apologies needed, X-Ray; because I know myself he’s sure no beauty; but say, let me tell you he’s a scrapper
from the ground up.”

“How on earth did you ever come to call him by such a queer name, Ethan? Did you happen to get him on Friday?
Mebbe you found him on an island; or fished him out after a shipwreck on the water?”

“You’re away off your base, Lub. I’ll proceed to enlighten you a bit. It’s a wonder to me some of you haven’t asked
about that before now. First of all, we got him from a man named Robinson, who peddles chickens, and collects eggs
through Brewster territory. For a while we always referred to him as ‘Robinson’s fowl.’ Get that?”

“Yes, but go on, Ethan.”

“Well, when he had his fierce fight with Zack Avery’s game rooster that had beaten everything to flinders, and Robinson
actually whipped him, we began to think he deserved a medal. After he had made the game run for home he perched on
the dividing fence and let everybody know about it with his clarion voice; so I said right on the spot he ought to be given
the rest of the famous Robinson name because he crew so!”

“Oh! somebody take hold of me, or I’m liable to fall off the sled and be left behind!” shouted the boy called Lub, and
who was well named it appeared, judging from his generous proportions.

The stout boy was duly restrained and hugged by X-Ray Tyson and Ethan until he begged his companions to desist.

“I didn’t mean that I wanted you to squeeze me to death,” he complained; “that would be jumping out of the fryingpan
into the fire. I’m fully recovered now from my weakness: but, Ethan, please don’t do anything like that again.”

There were just four boys in the party, all dressed warmly for a winter outing, and perched upon a number of bundles
that went to make up the cargo of the homely old Canadian two-horse sledge, built not unlike those in common use
around Moscow during a Russian winter.

Besides Ethan Allen, X-Ray Tyson and the stout youth, Lub Fenwick, whose real name however was Osmond, there
was a fourth lad, to whom the others seemed to defer in a way that might suggest leadership.

In fact Phil Bradley did occupy this position among his chums, and with reason, for none of them could compare with
him in concocting clever ideas, and also in carrying out the same.

They all belonged to the town of Brewster, which was situated hundreds of miles to the southwest of where we find
them on this crisp winter day.

Those who have had the opportunity of reading the earlier volumes in this series know how it happened that there was
no school in session in Brewster that fall and early winter, so that the scholars were given a long vacation.

Phil and his three chums had come to call themselves the Mountain Boys; just why we have not the time or space to
explain here, except that it may have had something to do with Ethan Allen’s ancestors, who were Revolutionary
heroes, and connected with the famous Green Mountain Boys.

Phil was an orphan who had been left a large fortune in trust, so that he could do almost as he liked financially; though
he had no bad habits, and used his means in a healthy way for the benefit of others, as well as his own enjoyment. Lub
had a rich aunt who spoiled him; and the parents of the Tyson boy were also considered well-to-do—by the way his
name was really Raymond, but he was always so quick to see through things, that his playmates soon corrupted his first
name as above.

These four boys were ambitious to take certain trips calculated to call for considerable expenditure of cash. The Allens,
not being rich, and Ethan, being too proud to accept of continuous favors at the hands of Phil, for a time it looked as if
the magic combination must be broken.

Between them the other three hatched up a wonderful scheme which they immediately put into operation. It has been
spoken of in earlier books, but in order that new readers may understand the situation, a few words of explanation may
not be amiss.

Ethan had always been a boy given to earning various sums of money by doing odd jobs, and at the recommendation of
Phil he started to use some old traps he happened to own, with more or less success in securing such pelts as muskrats
in the marsh, together with an occasional fox or mink, while even ’coons yielded up their hides for his benefit.

In the spring and summer Ethan scoured the woods for certain valuable roots such as wild ginseng, golden rod and
others. These he dried, and when he had a quantity, shipped to a certain dealer according to the directions of Phil.

The results were certainly pleasing, for the checks that came back made Ethan very proud. But the fact of the matter
was, this was all a little scheme of Phil’s. To tell the truth the pretended dealer in roots and furs down in New York was
a certain rich bachelor uncle of Phil’s, who entered heartily into the game, once he learned the purpose of his nephew’s
idea.

He even had letter heads and envelopes printed as though he might be doing a land-office business in purchasing such
commodities. But if the wonderfully fine prices that he paid Ethan for everything he sent prevailed all along the line, it is
likely that nine-tenths of the male population of the country would be turning their attention to such profitable pursuits.

Of course the reader can understand that nine-tenths of the money Ethan received in these complimentary letters came
from Phil; but not for worlds would this intelligence be allowed to reach the proud trapper and root-hunter.

It was in one way rather a mean thing to do, but the intention was noble. It allowed Ethan to pay his share of the general
expenses on their outings, and saved his self-respect. Granted that he never learned of the subterfuge everything would
be well.

There were times, however, when Ethan quite naturally boasted just a little about his superior ability to dry roots better
than anybody else; and also of his grand luck in trapping a prize black fox, when in reality the skin that brought him
almost three hundred dollars was not worth more than five at the most.

On these occasions Lub would titter a little, though he quickly turned it off if Ethan turned to stare at him, by coughing,
and complaining of a tickling in his throat.

Only when they were positive that Ethan was out of hearing did the three conspirators dare compare notes on this
subject, and laugh over the success of their grand scheme. But as X-Ray once said, it was like skating over a “ticklish
bender” on the frozen mill pond; because they might try it once too often, and excite the suspicion of the boy who was
being hoodwinked, greatly to his profit.

Phil and his three chums had spent some time in camp up in the Adirondacks not a great while back. Their latest trip
had been down on the Coast along a certain section on Currituck Sound, where Phil owned a “shooting lodge” that had
been left to him by an old hermit. What amazing adventures developed during their stay on the salt water in pursuit of
wild fowl have been given in detail in the preceding volume.

This trip up into the Canadian wilderness had been planned for a long time. In fact ever since X-Ray received a present
on the last Christmas of a pair of fine Canadian show-shoes he had done little but talk of his desire to some time or
other get up there where they always had plenty of snow, just to learn how to use his treasured gift.

Strangely enough there had never come about a time since then when he could do any decent work with his snow-
shoes. When a fall of snow did come along it was followed by a soft spell that ruined the going; and so it came about
that here they were, headed for a certain place in the Canadian “bush,” where they hoped to spend a week or two
hunting, and enjoying themselves in every possible way.

Phil had been put in touch with an old Scotch farmer who had promised to take them bag and baggage into the woods,
and come for them again at a certain date. On the previous morning they had started over the snow on his queer sledge,
with a large quantity of luggage that was intended to make for their comfort. One night they had camped on the way,
and “The” McNab, whose other name was Tammis, promised that before darkness rolled around again he would have
them located in the best hunting region of the Saguenay country.

Of course X-Ray Tyson was not the only one who had snow-shoes, because there were three other pairs in plain sight.
Phil alone really had had previous practical experience on the clumsy “gunboats,” as Lub called them; though X-Ray
claimed to have paddled around in his yard many times on an inch of snow, without any dire disaster.

The McNab was a red-faced Scotch-Canadian, warm of heart, though possibly a bit over fond of imbibing, and
perhaps not as dependable as he might be when in one of these bibulous moods.

He was greatly interested in the four lively American lads, and listened to the many stories they told connected with their
past experiences.

Thus the second morning of their tedious ride began to wear away. Surrounded by the rough country that characterizes
all this section of northeast Canada, they began to feel that ere long they would be cut off from all communication with
civilization.

All that morning they had not seen a single house of any description. The road over which the two sturdy Canadian
shaggy ponies were dragging the sledge was only a logging or “tote” road along which teams sometimes went on the
way to or from some logging camp situated nearer the river.

“We’ll soon be leaving even this road, and taking to the bush, you say, Mr. McNab?” Lub was asking, as he clutched
the arm of Ethan in a sudden spasm of fear lest he be shaken from his seat when one of the runners of the sled struck an
obstruction, tilting the whole load dangerously.

“Oh, aye, but I assure ye it couldno’ be any worse than this. Ye ken that the road is seldom used, and it gets in a
peetiful state. But it will not be for lang. When we turn off the going will be better, ye understand.”

Mr. McNab had a very broad touch of the brogue. Lub loved to hear him roll the “R’s” off his thick tongue, and often
asked questions just to be amused in that way.

“Look ahead there, will you?” cried out X-Ray just then; for when it came to using his eyes to advantage the Tyson boy
had all of his chums “beaten to a frazzle,” as Ethan used to say; “here comes a man walking along the road. Why, we
must be getting near a town of some kind.”

“Aweel, laddy, nae doot ye think so, but it taks more than one man to mak a toun. That party is a logger coming from
the camp. I dinna ken why he should be giving up his job so airly in the season, but it may be he is seek, or has had
some sorry news frae hame.”

The brawny logger had an ax, with a small bundle suspended from the same, slung over his shoulder. He stopped and
waited for them to come up, when he nodded his head in salutation.

“You’re The McNab, I take it,” he remarked, addressing the driver of the shaggy ponies. “I’m one of the Sawyer
bunch over on the river ten miles away. On my way back home; wife down with a fever and the kids need me. Get up
later on if all goes well. What sort of a crowd are you taking up into the bush this time, Tammis? Seems like a young
outfit for such big game hunting.”

“Oh! ay, so it does,” replied the driver, quickly; “but these braw laddies hae seen muckle mair o’ such business than
most men that come up this way. They weel know how to tak care o’ themselves, nae doot. What are the chances for
game this season; and do ye know o’ anny ither parties in the bush?”

“I hear there are moose aplenty this year,” the logger replied, as he filled his pipe from the bag of tobacco McNab held
out to him; “and so far I’ve only heard tell o’ one party o’ sportsmen along these parts. They’re camped nigh the
Hogback on Cranberry Creek.”

“Seems to me I heard talk aboot the Baylay coming back to his old haunts again. They did say he had reformed, but,
mon, they leed, fo’ that de’il would never be annything but the toughest man in all the Saguenay region, though he lived
to a hundred.”

“Yes, they say it’s true, and one of our crew ran across him,” the logger returned, with a frown, and a shake of the
head. “He is still nursing a broken head; and bore the word from Baylay that if any other loggers tried to take the
quarrel up they knew where to find him.”

“Oh, ay, he never hides his light under a bushel, mon. And I only hope that the laddies here will not run a foul of the
braggart while they are in the bush.”

“Well, if they do they’d better knuckle under, and whisper small. There isn’t a man I know as would be willing to stack
up against Baylay when he’s roused and in one of his quarrelsome moods. He is a terror if ever there was one. But I
must be on my way; the sooner I get home the better. Good-by to ye, boys, and I hope ye have a fine time; but beware
Baylay!”

He struck out down the logging road with his bundle dangling from the ax that lay across his shoulder. McNab chirped
to his ponies and once more the sledge started on its way.

Lub had an apprehensive look on his chubby face. His eyes sought those of Phil in a mute inquiry.

“Would you mind telling us something about this man, Baylay, Mr. McNab?” asked Phil; while both X-Ray Tyson and
Ethan nodded their approval, for their curiosity had also been aroused.

“Oh! ay, though the least said aboot him the better,” replied the driver, as he glanced uneasily on either side of the road
at the thick “bush” as though he half feared lest the party under discussion might be within earshot of them and take
offense; “he is a verra big and powerful man who has a most ungovernable temper. He has gi’en the authorities a great
deal o’ trouble in the past, but it is maist difficult to get any one to try and arrest him. He has been a logger in his time,
and one o’ the best ever known along the river. They say he used to smuggle across the border; and to this day he kills
game out o’ season as he pleases; yet the wardens are sore afraid to attempt his arrest.”

“Whew! that sounds nice, I must say!” exclaimed X-Ray Tyson.

“Rather an unpleasant neighbor to have around, seems to me,” added Ethan.

“I should remark,” declared Lub.

“I only hope,” Phil finished with, “that we don’t have the bad luck to run across this Baylay while we’re up here. For
while it might be policy for us to knuckle down and try not to cross such a quarrelsome man, it goes against the grain of
the Mountain Boys to be meek and uncomplaining when they are in the right.”

“That’s what we all say, Phil!” declared X-Ray.

Tammis McNab looked at his charges, and rubbed his bristly chin reflectively, as though it struck him there might be
some lively times in prospect in case these American lads and the Baylay did happen to run up against each other in the
bush.

CHAPTER II—BESIDE THE FRAGRANT CAMP FIRE

“I heard say that this Baylay had come back to his old haunts; does that mean he used to live up in this section, Mr.
McNab?” asked Phil, a little later, showing that his thoughts were still fixed upon the unpleasant neighbor they were
likely to have during their outing.

“Aweel, he did spend some time up aboot this way,” the driver replied. “You see, the mon has a family, for all his wild
ways, and somehow he manages to support the wife and childer and a raft o’ dogs, though it’s a mystery how he does
the same.”

“Children you say, and up here in this wilderness?” exclaimed Lub, looking more or less surprised.

“Oh! ay, a pair o’ thim I’m tawld, tho’ for the matter I couldno’ say for certain, since I never ha’ set eyes on the same.
They tell me that the wife is a wee sma’ woman, but that she has been known to subdue her giant husband as no mortal
man ever dared.”

“Gee! I’d like to see her do it, then,” asserted X-Ray, impulsively, of course never dreaming at the time that any such

opportunity would drift his way.

When noon came they stopped and made a fire, so as to have hot coffee, which of course every one declared to be
very refreshing, for they were chilled more or less by the long inaction.

Then it was on again deeper into the wilderness. The road had been abandoned for some time, since it turned sharply in
the wrong direction, heading for the lumber camp on the river. Besides, the vicinity of such a place, where trees were
falling all day long, and rough loggers calling out or singing at their labor, could not be reckoned a good hunting-ground,
since the game would be scared away.

As the shadows began to lengthen the boys were cheered by hearing Tammis declare they were now close on the spot
he had in mind. Once before some years back he had piloted a hunting-party up here, and from all accounts the
prospects for big game were much better this season than for a long while back.

One of Phil’s hobbies was along the line of flashlight photography. Indeed, he had become quite fascinated with the idea
of “shooting game with a camera,” and was even losing some of his hunter spirit that had until recently been such a
pronounced part of his make-up.

He had already made quite a collection of wonderful pictures, and yearned for other worlds to conquer. Some of these
days he declared he meant to take a trip into the fastnesses of Darkest Africa, where he could snap off the wild animals
in their native haunts—elephant, lion, rhinoceros, hippopotamus and every other species of creature that lives in jungle
and swamp and forest in the country which Roosevelt had recently visited on his great hunt.

Of course Phil expected to add to his collection while on this jaunt; and since Ethan was a born hunter, with X-Ray
backing him up, they could supply the camp with what fresh meat was necessary, leaving Lub to manage the culinary
department, and lend Phil a helping hand if necessary.

The sun was just about an hour high when McNab suddenly drew in his shaggy team.

“What mair cud ye want than this braw place, laddies?” he demanded, as he sat there, and swept his hand around in a
semi-circle.

Phil followed his movement. He saw that indeed there could hardly be a finer spot for camping. It was on the shore of a
lake, and they could look far out over the ice-covered surface to where the fir crowned hills came down to the further
shore, fully a mile away.

Situated in the heart of the virgin forest, with the ax of the logger still a stranger to the splendid growth of timber, it
seemed to offer them a glorious opportunity for spending their fortnight there in the wilderness.

The boys jumped to the ground, and commenced exercising their arms so as to induce a better circulation of blood.

“No need of that, fellows,” laughed Phil; “we’re going to have plenty of things to do to tire you out before we get settled
here. Grab hold, and unload the sledge to begin with. Then all of us must get busy putting up some sort of temporary
shelter for the night, like we did before. To-morrow we can start in to build a more permanent one that will resist a
blizzard if it comes along.”

McNab looked after his team while the Mountain Boys began to get to work under the direction of their leader; for Phil
happened to know a great deal more about this sort of thing than any of his three chums.

The merry whack of the two axes they had fetched along told that preparations were underway looking to the
temporary shelter spoken of by Phil. Lub was quite an adept in building fires for cooking purposes, since he had had
considerable practice; accordingly no one interfered when he started to roll two logs he had picked out until he had
them forming what might be called a V, with a little space separating the ends that were close together.

In arranging this he had made sure to leave the broad end toward the prevailing breeze, which at the time was from the
west. This insured a good draught, once the fire was lighted; and would also conduce to the comfort of the cook
bending over the coals, as it would blow the pungent smoke away from his face.

Phil, not knowing what they might strike away up in this section of Canada, had made sure to purchase certain supplies
at a sporting goods emporium in New York, and which had come to him through the mails. Just what these were none
of the other boys knew up to the present, though Phil had promised to tell them before long.

Of course they had coffee and tea, sugar, biscuits, bacon, salt pork, beans, rice, some canned goods and like things.
And at McNab’s they had been fortunate enough to lay in quite a supply of butter and fresh eggs, that might last through
half of their expected two weeks in the woods.

By the time darkness began to gather the shelter for the night had been completed, and they clustered around the fire
intending to take things easy, as well as eagerly sniff the tempting odors that were beginning to permeate the neighboring
atmosphere.

“Now is the chance to tell us, Phil, what under the sun you have in that big package you got from New York City
before we left home,” suggested X-Ray, who did not like to have anything that was connected with a mystery go long
unexplained.

“Well, I suppose I had better keep my promise,” laughed Phil, starting to cut the cords that bound the package in
question; “or else you will have a fit. There never could be a secret when you were around.”

“Oh! I don’t know about that,” muttered X-Ray, giving Phil a wink, and then looking blandly toward the unconscious
Ethan who did not dream that he was concerned in the matter in the least.

“Well, these are some of the concentrated foods that are used by prospectors and Arctic explorers, who can carry but
a small pack on their backs, and yet may starve to death for all the game they can get. They are splendid in their way,
I’m told, though I must confess that outside of the condensed milk and the soups I never tasted any of these things. I
know what they are, though.”

The boys commenced examining the various articles for themselves.

“Now tell me what the dickens erbswurst can be?” demanded Ethan as he took up a strange roll that must have
weighed several pounds, and looked like a sausage.

“Oh! that’s in common use in Germany, especially in the army. It is made of concentrated pea-meal ready to use, and
with other vegetables, and some dried meat mixed in with it. You can eat it as it is, or made into a soup it is very fine,
and will sustain life better than almost any other thing you could find.”

“And what is this queer looking can that has a label telling that it is self-heating; explain to me how can that be?” asked
X-Ray Tyson.

“That is really a wonderful discovery, and duck hunters shivering in their blind, on a winter morning, balloonists far up
among the clouds, and all persons who need something warm to take away their shaky feeling, but can’t have a fire, find
a great boon in those soups.”

“But how can it be self-heating I’d like to know?” asked Ethan, scornfully.

“It is after all very simple,” explained Phil. “The soup is in a second can, and the space between the two is filled with dry
quick-lime. When wanted, a small hole is cut in the top of the outer can and some water allowed to pass in. This you
see generates a terrific heat, and in a jiffy the soup is made piping hot.”

“Well, did you ever hear the beat of that?” exclaimed Lub, who had stopped his culinary labors long enough to look
and listen to what was going on, for it really concerned his department.

“And here we have some desiccated vegetables, looks like,” remarked Ethan, as he pointed to a variety of cans.

“Those are what they call dehydrated vegetables,” explained Phil. “They are potatoes, spinach, onions and cabbage in a
concentrated form. One can weighing from four to twelve ounces is equal to from seven to fifteen pounds of the fresh
stuff.”

“But how do you use them?” asked Lub, wonderingly, thinking no doubt what a labor saving device this would be for
the cook.

“Oh!” Phil told him, “just add the proper amount of water to a small portion, and cook it the same way you would the
fresh vegetable. They are used pretty generally in the United States navy, I understand; for it is sometimes hard to get
green stuff, and a diet of salt meat is apt to induce scurvy in sailors.”

“Well, I see you have soup tablets,” continued X-Ray Tyson, examining still further, “something that is called trumilk,
and another that goes by the name of truegg; do you mean to tell me these are all right, and that you can actually carry
eggs along in powder shape?”

“Yes, two of those cans of condensed eggs are equal to four dozen of the fresh variety,” explained Phil. “They say they
are fine, scrambled or in omelettes, and that is the way we can use them after our other supply gives out.”

“Well, if only you’ve got the money to buy things,” remarked Ethan, “there’s no need of anybody going into the woods,
and taking chances of starving these days, when they supply all these wonderful condensed things. But as for me I’d
rather just keep them for an emergency, and live on the fat of the land as long as I could find any fresh meat.”

The old Scotch-Canadian was greatly impressed with the explanations given by Phil. He examined the various cans and
packages closely, and seemed to handle them almost reverently, as though it was utterly beyond his ken how they could
so preserve eggs and things in such a condensed form. And yet for years he had been using, off and on, milk that had
been conserved after the same principle.

“Supper’s ready for serving, fellows; so get your pannikins where I can dish things out!” announced Lub about that
time.

They were soon enjoying themselves about as well as any one could wish. Really Lub was getting better at his
profession all the time, and X-Ray as well as Ethan did not hesitate to tell him so.

“Now, I know you’re just giving me that taffy so as to influence me to keep on the job right along,” urged Lub, a little
suspicious when the “Greeks came bearing gifts,” though his eyes did twinkle with gratification at hearing the warm
praise, because time had been when the same fat boy was very green in connection with camp cookery, and afforded
his chums many a hearty laugh over his blunders.

“Honest to goodness I mean every word of it, and more too, Lub!” affirmed X-Ray.

“I never tasted a better cup of coffee,” declared Ethan; “and these beans are warmed up to beat the band; while the
bacon is as crisp and brown as—well, as I could fry it myself, and that’s the highest praise anybody would want to have
handed out to them, I guess.”

There was enough and to spare, for after the last appetite had been appeased Lub declared that it was a shame to leave
that small portion, so he would have to put it away himself, which he accordingly did, though they warned him he was in
danger of bursting from over feeding.

Afterwards they made themselves comfortable, each with his warm blanket about his shoulders, and facing the fire. A
couple of logs rolled up near the blaze afforded them seats, and for at least two hours they continued to chat on every
sort of subject.

Their home life was often touched upon, as well as previous outings in which they had taken part. Ethan even told “The”
McNab what wonderful success he had had in his root-gathering and fur-trapping. On hearing how a single black fox
skin had netted him three hundred dollars the Scotch farmer said he did not doubt it as he knew a man who had
received three times that sum for an especially fine pelt.

“As for meself,” he added, “it’s verra curious but I never even saw a black fox in all me trapping experience. They do
be verra rare, they tell me. I have a good woman and three bairn at home, and a thousand dollars would be a muckle
fortune for us, but I dinna expect sich luck to come my way. Ye are verra fortunate I must say, Ethan, lad.”

Of course Lub had to titter at that, when X-Ray gave him a kick on the sly, as if to warn him to behave himself, so that
their great secret might not be endangered by Ethan having his suspicions aroused.

Presently Lub began to yawn and stretch at a great rate. That might be taken for a sign that he was becoming sleepy,
and wanted to turn in. They had their several places portioned off under the temporary shelter, so that if Lub chose he
could crawl in when he pleased.

He was evidently of a mind to do so, and had even started to rise to his feet, when the others heard him give vent to an
exclamation.

“Didn’t that logger say Baylay owned several dogs, fellows?” he demanded.

“Why yes, he did,” replied X-Ray, quickly; “but what makes you ask such a thing as that, Lub?”

“Because I reckon then he must be somewhere around here right now, for there’s a strange animal nosing about in the
shadows over where I threw what scraps were left of our supper!”

At that every one looked. Sure enough they could see a moving figure, that did look like a pretty good-sized dog.

Phil, however, uttered a low word of caution.

“Sit tight, everybody!” he hissed, “until I reach out and take hold of my gun!”

“But, Phil, go slow if that’s one of the poacher’s dogs!” warned Lub in alarm.

“Dog nothing!” came from Phil as he took up his gun; “that’s a gray wolf I tell you!”

CHAPTER III—FISHING THROUGH THE ICE WITH TIP-UPS

No one moved after that save Phil himself, though Lub breathed very hard, as if the information had given him the
“heart-jump,” he often spoke about.

Phil knew he had made no mistake when he pronounced the prowling animal a bold timber wolf; though he would have
had some difficulty in believing it if some one else had told about one of those animals daring to venture so close to a

camp where a number of hunters were sitting about a fire.

He judged that the beast must be unusually hungry, or else not in fear of mankind, from some reason or other.

“Whoo! see his green-yellow eyes, will you?” whispered Lub.

“Put the bullet square between ’em, Phil!” advised Ethan, secretly wishing it had been his rifle that was within easy
reach at the time.

Hardly had he spoken than there came the report. A jet of flame spurted from the end of the leveled gun; there was one
sharp yelp and that was all.

“You got him, Phil!” shouted X-Ray Tyson, always the first to see things that happened.

“Hold on, don’t rush over there till you get your guns!” advised Phil. “If the wolves are that brash up here, there may be
more of the lot.”

McNab had thrown some small stuff on the fire so that the flames shot up, and in this way illuminated the vicinity. They
could see a dusky figure sprawled out where the animal had been crouching and glaring at them with his terrible wolfish
eyes.

So when Ethan and X-Ray had secured their rifles, with Phil they advanced to the spot where the victim of the shot had
fallen. Phil was a trifle concerned himself, and anxious to make certain. If after all it turned out that he had shot a cur
dog belonging to that terrible poacher and one-time logger Baylay, it was going to make them a tremendous amount of
trouble.

He was speedily convinced, however, that there could be no doubt; and was also rejoiced to hear McNab declare:

“A fearsome sicht I ken, lads, and the largest wolf I ever saw in all my days in the bush. It was a braw shot ye made,
Phil; it goed close between the eyes, and finished the beastie for a’. I tauld ye there was game worth the hunting up this
way; if only ye may not have the misfortune to run across yon de’il o’ a Baylay and get his ill-will.”

They stretched the defunct wolf out, and Lub stared at his size, as well as his ferocious appearance, shuddering as he
fancied what a time any one would have if attacked by a pack of such monsters.

“I expect I’ll let you fellows do most of the prowling while we’re up here,” he remarked, with the air of one who knew
when he was well off. “I never did care very much for that sort, you know; and there will be plenty of things to employ
my time around the camp, I guess.”

“Yes,” Phil told him with a smile, for he knew that Lub’s heart was not the most valiant in the world, “and the first
chance we get to-morrow I mean to show you how to fish through the ice out there.”

“Oh! I’ve often read of that, Phil, and wished I could have a whack at it,” the fat chum exclaimed, rapturously; “please
tell me how it’s done, won’t you? They have what they call tip-ups, I believe, that let them know every time a pickerel
takes a bait.”

“It’s all as easy as falling off a log,” Phil went on to say. “You cut half a dozen holes in the ice some little distance apart.
Then you drop your baited hook down, and fix a little contraption across the hole, connecting the line with the same.
The idea is that when you get a fish his struggles tilts a stick, and lets you know about it. Sometimes one man ’tends
dozens of holes, running this way and that as he sees he has a catch, to take the fish off, and rebait the hook.”

“Are all the tip-ups alike, Phil?” asked the deeply interested Lub.

“Not by any means, although they have the same common idea of notifying the fisherman that he has made a catch,” the
other continued. “Some I have seen consist of a stick, with a cord and a red piece of cloth; when the fish is caught he
drags on the extra cord, and this causes the flag to appear at the top of the stick set upright in the ice. That is a good
way, though it means considerable labor fixing your poles.”

“Tell us the easiest way, then,” said Lub, who did not care for too much work, because, as he often said, of course in
fun, he was “dreadfully afraid of wasting away to just skin and bone.”

“The simplest tip-up,” said Phil, “consists of a crotch with two short prongs and one longer one. The line is tied to this in
such a way that a jerk causes the longer prong to dip down into the hole, though the crotch cannot be wholly drawn
through, care being taken to have it too large for that. Of course this tells the watchful fisherman to hurry his stumps and
take his catch off.”

“Show me how to cut one of those same crotches the first thing in the morning, will you, Phil?” asked Lub; “while the
rest of you are building our shack I might as well busy myself out there on the ice gathering in a mess of pickerel and
pike, for I reckon both of them live like cousins in our lake.”

Phil accordingly agreed to this, and so Lub presently crept off to lie down in his selected place. They heard his deep
breathing shortly afterwards, and knew he had passed into the land of dreams.

“I hope Lub doesn’t get to hauling in big fish while he’s asleep,” complained X-Ray Tyson; “I’ve known him to do the
silliest things in his dreams, and it wouldn’t surprise me a bit to find him trying to hug me in the night, under the belief that
he had hooked a monster sturgeon or muscalonge that was trying to get away from him. If you hear me let out a yell,
pull him off, boys, please.”

Of course both Phil and Ethan promised faithfully that they would accommodate him, though possibly they were half
hoping something of the sort might occur, because it would be a ludicrous sight to see Lub with his arms wrapped
around the more slender comrade, who would be gasping, and trying to break away.

“There, it was certainly a wolf let out that wailing howl!” declared Phil, as they were about to follow the example of the
fat chum, and crawl into their already arranged blankets.

“Ef I had a bawbee for every one o’ the creatures I’ve heard howl I’d nae doot be fixed for life,” The McNab assured
them.

“Then it is a wolf, a genuine one, that howled, is it?” asked X-Ray.

“Hoot mon! it could no’ be annything else.”

“Would they dare attack your ponies, Mr. McNab?” continued Ethan.

“I dinna ken, laddie; but the baith of them have been accustomed to takin’ care o’ themselves ever sin’ they were knee-
high to a duck. I would peety the wolf that was brash eno’ to tackle the heels o’ my ponies.”

The thought appeared to amuse McNab, for he continued to chuckle for some little time after he had snuggled into his
waiting blanket.

It was a long night, yet nothing happened to disturb the campers. Phil slept in what he was pleased to call
“detachments”; that is, he would lie there for an hour or so, and then raise his head to listen, perchance to crawl
noiselessly out from his snug nest so as to place more fuel on the smoldering fire; and then under the belief that it would
keep going for another spell again seek the warmth of his covers.

At last came the peep of dawn in the east. Phil saw it first, but he did not immediately arouse the others, for they were in
no especial hurry, and his fellow campers seemed to be sleeping so soundly it was a pity to disturb them.

Indeed breakfast was well on the way when Lub came crawling out, blinking his heavy eyes, and looking as though he
had only burst the bonds that fettered his senses with a great effort.

“What’s this I see and smell?” he exclaimed in a voice loud enough to awaken the Seven Sleepers. “Gone and stole a
march on me, hey? Got breakfast started, and without calling on the head chef either? All right, go ahead; if I see you
making any amateurish mistakes pardon me if I correct you. We want things done according to Soyer’s Cook Book in
this camp. That’s what I’m studying at home, you know. He’s simply great. F’r instance, when he starts to tell you how
to make rabbit stew he says: ‘First, get your rabbit! See how pointed his directions are? Now a lot of cook-books
ignore that fundamental condition altogether. They seem to think rabbits grow on bushes, and all you have to do is to
put out your hand and pull one in. First get your rabbit! That’s sound common sense for you!”

The others began to make their appearance and by the time breakfast was fully prepared all of them were ready to do
justice to the spread.

“Are these real eggs, Phil, or the sawdust kind?” demanded X-Ray.

“Well, that hardly needs an answer,” he was told; “they may be able to condense eggs in a small compass like dust, but
no man who ever lived could put them together again once they are broken, and the yolk runs into the white, Didn’t you
learn that ‘all the king’s horses and all the king’s men, couldn’t put Humpty Dumpty together again’? which meant that it
was an egg fell from the wall.”

After breakfast McNab hitched up and said good-by to his boy friends.

“Depend on it, laddies,” he said, after shaking each one by the hand, “if so be ye dinna arrive at my h’use in twalve days
I’ll be for startin’ up this way once mair till fetch ye back. That is the compact I make ye this day. And the best o’ luck
be with ye, amen!”

They were sorry to see McNab go, for he was good company; but there was plenty to engross their full attention. Ethan
and X-Ray had already begun to use the two camp axes, and the merry sound of their lusty blows was as music to the
ears of Phil, who soon had a picture of Camp Brewster in the making, to add to his collection.

Then there was Lub who had hurried through the clearing up of the breakfast things in order to get at that fishing through
the ice. They took a hatchet with them so Phil could cut the first hole. After that he showed the fat chum just what kind
of a crotch to select from the scrub growing near the shore, and how to fashion it so that it would answer the purpose.

“If we had live minnows I think it would be much better than this bought bait that is said to be extra good for pickerel
fishing,” Phil told him; “but we couldn’t very well fetch such things away up here. Where fishermen make this ice fishing
a regular business they keep a big supply of minnows in a spring hole that does not freeze over in winter; and each day
they use a quantity until all have been put on the hooks. I don’t know much about this patent bait, but it is said to
answer a long-felt want.”

Lub worked industriously indeed. When he had six good tip-ups made he proceeded to cut five more openings, about
fifty feet away from each other. Then he began to bait his hooks, and set the lines.

Before he had the third hook baited he was thrilled to discover the first tip-up trying to get into the hole; and when he
saw it moving he hurried over to ascertain whether he really had caught his first fish, or if it was going to turn out a false
alarm.

A vicious tug at the line assured him he had something worth while at the other end, and hand over hand Lub pulled a
wriggling captive in, finally tossing out on the ice a pickerel weighing at least seven pounds.

No wonder he gave a shout of joy and proceeded to dance around, holding up his glittering barred prize. The others
called out to congratulate him on his work. “Do it some more, Lub, and we’ll have all the fish chowder we can eat!”
Ethan told him; whereupon the delighted fisherman once more started in to finish his line of holes through the ice,
working with a will.

The fish must have been pretty hungry in that Canadian lake, or else the “bought” lure that Phil had fetched along with
him had some magical properties about it to attract the finny denizens. Certainly they kept Lub hopping from one place
to another, amidst frequent bursts of joy, and also considerable puffing; for it must be remembered that the boy was
excessively fat, and this action made him short of breath.

The results must have gladdened his heart. Every time he took a pleased look at the stack of fish he had started to build
he chuckled with pride and glee. Some of the prizes were by now frozen, and remained where he had placed them;
later arrivals flopped all around on the ice; but as fast as they became numb with the cold Lub would add them to his
pile.

Such splendid fishing he could not remember of ever indulging in before. After such glorious success the boys would
have to crown him as the king of tip-up fishermen. And no doubt Lub’s mouth watered as he contemplated the feast
that would come at the end of that wonderful day.

If this good luck was going to be a specimen of what was coming their way surely the Canadian trip must be marked
down with a red cross in the annals of their vacation experiences.

Lub was wholly given up to his work. So engrossed did he become in it that even the sound of the axes, and the voices
of his chums failed to draw his attention any longer. In fact, he was fascinated with the charm of hauling in those
glittering striped prizes; with an occasional muscalonge as well, fierce fighters that struggled madly against being dragged
from their native element.

The boys ashore had apparently cut enough small trees by now to satisfy their present wants. They no longer used the
ax save to trim some end as they started to build the shack.

Phil had put all other things aside, lending his aid to further the work and really things were commencing to look like
business.

Ethan and X-Ray were bending down, and urging a stubborn tree trunk to settle in its appointed place, while Phil
waited to fasten it there, when without the least warning they heard a wild whoop.

It came with such astonishing vigor that every one of the three boys started up, the business in hand forgotten for the
moment.

Of course they knew that it came from Lub out there on the ice. He had been giving some fancy exhibitions of shouting
from time to time; so that the others had reached a point where they only grinned on hearing his notes of delight.

But this was different.

There was no chant of joy about the howl that had just reached their ears, to thrill them through and through; on the
contrary plain fear dominated the outburst!

CHAPTER IV—LUB’S BEAR

“It’s Lub!” exclaimed X-Ray, like a flash, for he was always quick to jump at conclusions.

“He’s fallen in one of his holes!” gasped Ethan.

“Not much; it’s something worse than that!” cried Phil, as another whoop came to their ears.

It happened that they could not see out on the ice where they were standing, and consequently the first thing any of
them thought of doing was to jump around the patch of bushes so as to get a clear view.

They could hardly believe their eyes. There was poor Lub trying his level best to run over the smooth ice, with a shaggy
black bear in hot pursuit! Even as they looked the animal went through a queer sort of gymnastic performance, as
though striving to seize hold of some object that Lub seemed to be dragging after him.

“It’s a fish on one of his lines the bear wants!” exclaimed Phil, hardly knowing whether to burst out laughing, or consider
the situation a serious one for the terrified boy on the ice.

He compromised matters by darting aside and snatching up his rifle; an act that caught the eye of Ethan Allen, and was
instantly copied by that wideawake individual.

“Help! make him let up chasing after me!” shouted Lub, as well as he was able, considering the fact that he kept
slipping and rolling over, only to scramble wildly to his feet, and start off once more in his clumsy fashion.

“Let him have the fish you’re dragging after you!” shouted Phil, even as he began to move out on the ice, with the other
two at his heels.

“I can’t! Line’s got fast to my leg; and he ate up all the others anyway!” Lub called back, as he waddled along with
frantic zeal.

“Turn to the left so you’ll be out of range when we shoot!” bellowed Phil.

Apparently the fugitive heard this, and also understood, for they could see that he was doing his best to obey; though
the slippery ice did play all manner of tricks with those uncertain “pins” of his, causing him many a frantic struggle.

As he ran Lub could not keep from “rubbering” as Ethan called it. He would twist his fat neck around in order to learn
just how close his hairy pursuer chanced to be at the moment. This helped to make his flight more uncertain, and
brought about his downfall several times.

As Phil and Ethan were much more surefooted than the stout boy, and not at all frightened, they made better progress.
On this account they gained continually, so that when Lub had managed to sheer off, and presented his left side to them,
they were really close enough to make sure of the bear.

“Ready, Ethan?” called out Phil.

“Yes!” came the reply, as both of them suddenly stopped short.

The two reports sounded almost as one. Lub gave another squeal as though his nerves were strained to the limit; but
when on casting one of his apprehensive looks over his shoulder he saw his tormentor struggling there on the ice as
though he had received his death hurt, the fat boy’s humor changed.

“Give him some more, fellows!” he shrieked. “The glutton! to devour all my fine fish. We’ll make it up by feasting on
bear steak to-night, then; that’s the only way to get even. Oh! he’s getting up again, and he’s got it in for me because I
said that. Shoot him once more, Phil!”

“It’s no use, because he’s done for,” Phil told him, for the bear after that expiring effort had fallen back again, and given
his last kick.

When Lub made sure of this, and saw that his chums were all gathered about the fallen animal, he summoned up enough
courage to join the circle.

“How did it happen, Lub?” asked X-Ray, who had now joined the rest.

The stout chum rubbed his chin, and shrugged his plump shoulders.

“Gee! but he did give me a terrible shock!” he remarked, as though once more passing through the dreadful experience
of the surprise.

“Tell us about it,” urged Ethan; “and how did it come you let him eat up all your fish without giving the alarm?”

“Well, this is about the way it happened,” Lub began. “My back was turned on the pile of fish for I was fighting with the
gamiest one of the lot, this husky muscal...